


To Suffer Leaving or Risk Staying (Acting Title)

by curry-murderererer (QueenVulture0)



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Deviates From Canon, Gen, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:22:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenVulture0/pseuds/curry-murderererer
Summary: Based on the theory that everything in the show is all in Mike's head.Mike's uncle is paying for him to live in a house and do whatever he wants. He drops off Mike's medication each month, takes him to the doctor, and visits frequently to check on him. Turns out this past year Mike hasn't taken a single pill, and he's continuing to use his imaginary school friends to help repress memories from his past.TW: mental illness, canon-typical violence.[better synopsis to come]
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	To Suffer Leaving or Risk Staying (Acting Title)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @Starryeyedrichie and @scumbaganarchy for the support, they're lovely <3

As always on the 5th of each month, Mike woke up to find a bottle of pills with a note attached sat on his side table. He grabbed the note and looked at it, not that it would be any different than it ever was before. 

_ Your prescription came in, don’t forget to wake up today.  _

_ Uncle Balowski. _

As always on the 5th of each month, Mike opened the drawer of the table and tossed the pills in with a dozen other bottles. Then, he went about his day. 

He’d put on today’s ironed out suit, sunglasses replacing the pocket square, and the shoes he wore just about all the time. Ready to take on another day of madness, he strolled right down the stairs. 

“Morning, Rick. Anything good on the telly?” 

“Nothing but political propaganda with subliminal messaging,” Rick huffed. “Fascists!” Rick got up, throwing his chair at the TV. Vyvyan and Neil, each sat on the sofa, watched the set explode for the tenth time. No one was really counting. 

Vyvyan was the first to get up to do anything. He stormed over to the kitchen, throwing open the fridge. His hand reached in, but he froze right there. “Where's my ketchup?!” He looked to the other three, Mike included, and noticed Rick about to speak. He put his hand up, “before you say anything, make sure you think about it.”

Rick chuckled nervously. “Well, erm…” He was quick on his feet. “Neil threw it out!” 

Vyvyan’s focus shifted to Neil. “Is this true?”

Neil was standing now, scowling. “Even if I told you the truth you wouldn’t believe me.” 

Vyvyan shifted back to Rick, who was in a much more panicked state. “It was him! Would I lie, Vyvyan?”

“Yes.” Vyvyan slammed the fridge so hard it came back open, and he charged at Rick. 

Mike hardly paid attention. He’d found a seat at the kitchen table and had stretched his legs out just after Vyvyan had run past. He heard a crash, some shouting, a pacifist interjection of some sort, but it was all white noise to him. His focus faded into the day’s paper and stayed that way for however long. It didn’t matter.

His focus faded back out to the world around him when Vyvyan slammed a bowl on the table. Mike looked up, watching him empty the corn flakes box into the bowl. 

“Oh, great!” Vyvyan shook the box by his head. “It’s empty!” He plopped into the chair and glared angrily at the cereal. “And I have to eat this dry!” He tried to take a bite of it, but he spit it right back into the bowl and then promptly flung it across the room. 

“Oh, uncool Vyv. That was our last bowl,” Neil whined. 

“That’s alright,” Mike reasoned, “you could go to the shops and get Vyvyan corn flakes and ketchup, and grab a set of bowls while you’re at it.”

Neil, scowling as always, replied, “I don’t think it would kill you guys to come with me one time.”

Mike folded the paper up and put it on the table, getting back up. “I’ll go with you.” He put his glasses on, looking around as he did so. He saw Rick sitting against the wall, hugging his knees. Whatever Vyvyan did, it must have been good. “Don’t destroy the house while I’m gone,” he told both Vyvyan and Rick as he reached the door. 

* * *

While in line at the shop, Mike noticed he was alone. No hippie double his size by his side. It was only him, and the woman in front of him. When her transaction was complete, he was next. He placed the stuff on the counter and waited to pay. “Which flower would you like today?” The keeper asked. 

“Let’s go with a sunflower.” Mike pointed at an array of flowers behind the counter. 

“You know, it’s a very interesting list of yours. You get the same things each week.” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Mike took the flower and bag of items, then placed a 10 on the counter. “Keep the change.”

As he exited the shop, he went a different direction than straight back home. There was a cleanup event happening, typically around this time each month people got together and gathered trash at the local parks. He turned around the corner of a building and there they all were. 

One person that always stood out was the tall hippie. He was at this park every day, preaching vegetable rights and peace. Each shopping trip, Mike bought a flower for him. He approached the hippie, who was helping gather trash as well, and handed him the sunflower. He was the spitting image of Neil. He  _ was _ Neil. But that wasn’t Neil. Honestly, he didn’t know his name, no one really did.

“Good luck this week,” he said, as he did every week. “Where’s head honcho?”

“Bless you, Michael.” he looked around and pointed out someone more average-sized. “Richard’s over there. You came on a good day, today’s the last day of his vacation.”

Richard noticed he was being pointed at, but realized quickly it was only Mike and the hippie. He grinned and waved to the two. He was a much more normal version of Rick. A bit older, he had hair nearly to his shoulders, and he was in the community service garb. Just about everyone was, except for the hippie of course. He wasn’t a committee member, but he was happy to help at the cleanup events. 

Mike approached Richard as he continued to collect trash in the bag. “So, what’s the next big project, eh?” 

“We’ll be wunning a book dwive down at the station.” He even had Rick’s speech impediment. 

“Making the pigs look good, are we?” Mike joked. 

Richard laughed and nodded. “I’ve got to make myself look better, wight?” 

Mike agreed with a nod. “You’re back on duty tomorrow then, are you?”

Richard rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes. All I can do is push through and hope one day I make a difference in the system. At least that was the widiculous idea I thought I could pull off in school.”

“Haven’t you brought a few of your clients onto the committee?” 

“I have.” Richard stood tall and grinned proudly with that reply. He pointed to a few people around, “there’s Jeremy, Billy, and Tommy. They’ve stayed on board since their pwobation ended.”

“Good on you!” Mike proclaimed, reaching up a bit to give Richard a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’ve got to get home before my housemate starves to death.”

Richard laughed and nodded again. “See you next week, Michael.”

They each gave each other a bit of a wave, Mike more just raising his hand up casually, then he made his walk back home. 

Neil entered the house just behind him and shut the door. Mike brought the bag to the kitchen table. “Here, Vyv. Ketchup and corn flakes. Don’t go through it too quickly!” 

A big grin appeared on Vyvyan’s face and he marched over from SPG’s cage to the table. “Have you got the bowls?” 

“Of course I’ve got the bowls.” He took the set of bowls out of the bag. 

Vyvyan immediately ripped apart the box and picked a bowl to fill with ketchup-soaked corn flakes.

Rick came booming down the stairs, running right into the kitchen with a paper in his hand. “Vyvyan! I’ve written you a poem!” He looked at the paper and started reciting it. “Vyvyan. The image of you makes me sick, as sick as politic...s. Vyvyan, when I see you I want to punch you. I’d even like to hurt you with voodoo!” Rick paused there to chuckle arrogantly, and mutter, “yeah, good one,” to himself.

Vyvyan stopped him there. “I’ve got a poem for you! Roses are red, violets are blue, you’re a bastard and I hate you.” He cackled and looked back at the cereal. 

Rick exploded with rage. He shouted at the top of his lungs, “you didn’t let me finish!” Rick crumpled the paper and threw it on the ground, and then this time he charged at Vyvyan. 

Another fight broke out. More crashes, shouting, and pacifist interjections all over again. 

“Amazing,” Mike said, “two fights in just the first chapter.”

Mike went around the table and put his hand out as he spoke. “Now, now, don’t you think that’s enough fighting for one day?” 

Both Rick and Vyvyan paused their fight and looked at Mike. “No,” they both answered in unison, then resumed attacking each other. 

Neil looked at Mike, shaking his head. “I try that every time, it never works.”

Whoever would win this time, Mike didn’t care. It was a pretty nice day today, so he went out to the back to escape the noise. He typically didn’t mind, but clearly sometimes his brain didn’t know when to stop. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm not sure how often this will be updated, but I really hope I'm able to see this entire fic through to the end. In the meantime (not to self-advertise, but), I'll be updating "A Collection of Madness" with requests from my Tumblr @curry-murderererer so check that out!


End file.
